


It’s cute you think I’m letting go

by djhedy



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: AFTG Valentine's Day Exchange 2020, Holding Hands, Hurt/Comfort, Is hard, M/M, Protective Neil Josten, is also hard, letting go (of his hand), letting someone in
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:46:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22823527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/djhedy/pseuds/djhedy
Summary: Neil walks to the bedroom and knocks. “Andrew?” He pushes open the door.Andrew is where he was an hour ago. Sat cross-legged on the top bunk, phone in his lap, except now he’s staring out the window at a dull grey sky.Neil says, “The others are waiting downstairs.” Andrew doesn’t even move his head to acknowledge Neil’s appearance. Neil tightens his grip around the strap of his bag. “Do you want to stay here?” Nothing. Neil follows Andrew’s line of sight. The early evening November sky is dull, cold, heavy with a threat of rain. Neil knows Andrew hates to be cold. And wet. And dull.-andrew has a bad day, and neil tries to help
Relationships: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Comments: 32
Kudos: 575





	It’s cute you think I’m letting go

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mykaeba](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mykaeba/gifts).



> prompt: "sweet, holding hands, andrew opening up"
> 
> for mykaeba, happy (rather delayed) valentine's day - sorry this isn't actually very valentinesy, or fluffy, but hopefully it's them, and hopefully you like it <3 xxx

There’s a moment, before they head out, where Neil considers just not going. Maybe he could stand his ground, claim he wasn’t feeling well. Which wouldn’t work. The Foxes would just fuss. He definitely had work to do for class, somewhere, almost definitely. He digs one hand reluctantly through his backpack, stops. Really doesn’t want to, is the problem.

But Andrew –

“Hey, we going?”

Neil looks up to see Nicky, one hand on the open doorway, big grin on his face. Neil says, “Mm.”

“Everyone else is heading downstairs. Kevin came to ours half an hour ago. Where’s Andrew?”

“He’s in the bedroom.” Neil offers no further information, realises saying nothing is as bad as saying anything. Says, “We’ll meet you downstairs.”

“Ohhh-kay,” says Nicky, a small frown on his face but Neil waves him off and Nicky departs with a smile.

Neil hovers by his desk a few seconds longer. Figures they can wait. Are used to waiting on Andrew. He looks down at his backpack. Looks up to see if he find the smaller bag Matt had got him for christmas, the messenger bag. It’s stuffed behind Andrew’s desk, and he wrenches it out and assesses it. Kevin had called it girly – Neil has no idea what that would even mean, but it goes over his shoulders, across his chest, and he finds the weight of the thing kind of comforting. Took it out a couple of times once it was made clear to him there were certain posessions he wasn’t allowed to leave the dorms without – keys, wallet. Phone. But he stopped when he realised they could all fit into jeans pockets. Only really took the bag when he had extra things to carry with him.

Neil goes back to his own desk and opens the bottom drawer, picks through the items there and shoves a few into the bag.

In the bathroom he adjusts his tight-fit dark grey tshirt for the last time, hem resting just above skinny black jeans, pulls a black cardigan on, and the messenger bag over the top of that. Pushes his hair off his forehead. Reconciles his personality and his life and every waking breath with the image of his father’s face. Pulls the cardigan a little tighter over his shoulders, smiles a little.

Neil walks to the bedroom and knocks. “Andrew?” He pushes open the door.

Andrew is where he was an hour ago. Sat cross-legged on the top bunk, phone in his lap, except now he’s staring out the window at a dull grey sky.

Neil says, “The others are waiting downstairs.” Andrew doesn’t even move his head to acknowledge Neil’s appearance. Neil tightens his grip around the strap of his bag. “Do you want to stay here?” Nothing. Neil follows Andrew’s line of sight. The early evening November sky is dull, cold, heavy with a threat of rain. Neil knows Andrew hates to be cold. And wet. And dull.

He looks down at himself and back at Andrew. “Do you like my new clothes?”

At this Andrew does turn his head, a little, enough to side-eye Neil, to turn even more so he can look Neil up and down. He doesn’t say anything, but Neil smiles anyway. “What do you think?”

It takes an age, or maybe only a few seconds have passed, but Andrew eventually sighs, heavy, suffering. “Awful.”

“Good,” says Neil, “wouldn’t want you ogling me all night.”

Andrew just hums, but his eyes linger a little on Neil’s shoulders, on his chest, before looking down at his lap, as if surprised to see his phone there.

Neil wants to ask. But he doesn’t. He says, “Andrew.” Andrew looks up at him again. “Do you want us to stay here?” Adds the _us_ as: permission, as: encouragement, as: we’re in this together.

But Andrew just rolls his eyes, rolls his neck, lifts one hand to pull at a muscle. Neil hears something click. Andrew just says, “Let’s go.” Uncurls his legs from underneath him with the ease of an athlete who likes to forget he is one, and jumps down from the bunk.

He approaches Neil, and Neil tries to school his smile, his relief. Andrew looks appraisingly at Neil’s shoulders before raising an eyebrow at him. “Nicky?”

“Matt,” Neil says.

“Huh.” Andrew leaves the room. Neil grins. He doesn’t know who that was a bigger compliment to, Matt or the outfit.

They’re going out for – well. Nicky – when his family weren’t around – called it a _friendship renewal_. Neil has no idea what that means, he just knows it apparently means a diner and a bar crawl. A night on the town. It means not driving all the way to Columbia where three people can’t get drunk and no one can hear each other over loud music. It’s a relief for Neil, honestly; it’ll be easier to watch Andrew under brighter lighting.

In the diner they immediately get into an argument. Neil has no idea what it’s about, except he thinks maybe it’s about music, because Dan and Nicky keeping name-dropping people Neil think may be pop singers, while Allison tries to explain, with a long-suffering tone, _hip hop_ and Kevin lifts a hand up to stop them with the words _Bon Iver_.

Neil tunes it out then. Is more interested in watching Andrew. Andrew, who hasn’t touched his food.

He looks back at the group. Makes eye contact with Renee, who had been joining in gently at the edges, but who now is watching Andrew and Neil. She gives Neil a _look_ , and Neil turns to Andrew.

“Not hungry?”

Andrew just clenches his jaw, a sign that he’s heard, but he’s staring at his plate of eggs with an out-of-focus expression on his face. Neil doesn’t want to draw attention to him, maybe should just leave him alone. He considers, then taps two fingers on his bag. Andrew looks sideways. Neil opens the pocket and pulls out his cigarettes. He waves them at Andrew then hops off his chair.

“Smoking will kill you,” says Kevin.

Neil looks back, pleased when Andrew gets up too. “So will being an asshole,” Neil says vaguely, turning to leave.

He hears a noise behind him, bodies colliding and the rattle of a chair, and when he turns Andrew already has a guy pinned to the wall. Neil freezes, for one second – so does the world – and then a waitress yells, “Ex _cuse_ me!”

Andrew still has that out-of-focus expression on his face that Neil hates, that means he isn’t entirely there, and for the first time in a while Neil isn’t really sure what to do.

The others are all standing. Nicky says a pained, “Andrew what the hell?” And Aaron scowls, but loudly, somehow, and Matt is just running a hand through his hair.

The guy in question, glaring at Andrew half-amused half-furious says, “What the fuck man, _you_ bumped into _me_.”

But Andrew isn’t looking at him, Neil wonders if he even really knows he’s there. Neil moves a step forward, slowly. Says, “Andrew?” Waits a second. Leans in a little so he’s closer to the pair and, a few inches away from Andrew’s face, says. “Andrew. I’m going outside for a cigarette. Are you coming with me?”

Andrew sucks in a breath, and holds it, and finally his eyes focus on Neil. Neil doesn’t smile, but he does nod, and says, “Andrew. He’s just a random jackass. Look at me.” Andrew focuses a little more. “I’m going outside. For a cigarette. Are you coming?”

The hand Andrew has buried in this guy’s shirt loosens, and Andrew steps away, pushes past Neil in one swift movement and heads to the front door. The guy calls after him, “Asshole,” and Neil puts one hand on his chest, furious.

“Fuck off, thanks,” Neil says, removing his hand and walking backwards a few steps before turning to follow Andrew outside.

He finds him round the side of the building, leaning against a wall, arms crossed, looking small in the shadows. Neil leans next to him, a foot away, lights two cigarettes and holds one up. Andrew takes it.

Neil says, “What did he do?”

Andrew takes a long, deep, steadying drag, takes the cigarette out of his mouth, contemplates it. Breathes out. Without looking at Neil he says, “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does,” Neil insists, watching him. “What did he do? Do I need to beat him up?”

Andrew looks away. “Why would I need you to do that.”

Neil shrugs. “You don’t. I’d do it anyway.”

“Neil.”

“What did he do?”

Andrew leans against brick, flicks his eyes up to the sky. Folds his arms. Flicks cigarette ash away. Says, “Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“He walked into me.”

“Ok.”

Neil waits. Can’t take his eyes away from Andrew. Andrew’s focusing again, on a far wall, on the tip of his cigarette, on his own arms, on Neil’s feet. So Neil says, “Can I do anything? Is there anything you need?”

He skips over _what happened_ , and _are you ok_ , because it’s none of his business and he knows Andrew isn’t, skips over _let me look after you_ and _it’s ok_ , because he doesn’t think Andrew will like that very much.

Andrew doesn’t say anything. Which is consideration enough. They stand side by side for a few minutes. Andrew says, “Your food.”

“What about it?”

“Cold.”

“See if I care.”

“Hmm.” Andrew draws out the last of his cigarette and throws it to the ground, wraps his arms back round himself, tucking his hands under his biceps. Neil just waits, hands in his pockets and shoulder leaning against the wall. He’d wait forever.

“I didn’t –” Andrew starts, stopping abruptly. Neil feels like understanding is right there, on the edge of Andrew’s mouth, in the sheen to his eyes.

Neil wants to finish his sentence, wants to guess, wants to say, _didn’t ask to be touched_ , wants to ball his fists up and go back inside and start a fight he won’t win. Recalls the guy’s words, _you bumped into me_ , doesn’t care. “Want me to kill him?” Andrew shrugs, but it’s noncommittal, so Neil goes on, “No really, I don’t know if you’ve heard but I have some connections.”

Andrew looks up at him then, and he’s still tight, and he doesn’t move his arms, but he raises an eyebrow. “I hadn’t heard,” he drawls, and Neil smiles.

“Well, before all the murder begins,” Neil starts, and stops.

“What.” Andrew looks curious now, his voice its usual low, monotonous thing, but his eyes are tracking every movement of Neil’s.

Neil says, “Ask me,” and clarifies, “to touch you.” Neil is still a foot away, careful, distant, but he holds his hand up across the gap. Andrew doesn’t take it, of course he doesn’t. Neil says, “Ask me. I want to.”

Andrew’s eyes never leave Neil’s, but he uncurls his body, so slowly, almost inch by inch, removes his hands from under his arms, and pushes away from the wall. He reaches out a hand and links his fingers with Neil’s.

Neil sighs, lets relief flood his body. Feels safer where he can see Andrew, where he can touch him.

Squeezes the tips of Andrew’s fingers experimentally.

Andrew rolls his eyes, looks away.

Squeezes back.

Neil smiles at the back of Andrew’s head and says, “Shall we go back?”

They walk to the end of the alley together, and Andrew pushes his hand further into Neil’s, so that they’re palm to palm, and it’s warm, and Neil almost wants to hold his breath, and Andrew says, “Like this?”

Neil grins. “It’s cute you think I’m letting go.”

Remarkably, Andrew looks a little embarrassed. Or maybe it’s annoyance, because a second later he brings his other hand up and flicks Neil on the forehead. “You will let go when I tell you to.”

“Of course I will,” Neil says, automatic. Smiles. Ignores Andrew's slightly narrowed eyes, tugs gently at his hand and pulls them back inside.

At the table a few cautious looks are thrown their way, but Neil ignores them, waits til Andrew is settled in his chair and sits too, holds his hand under the table. Lifts his right hand to pick up his fork and then realises Andrew has been made left-handed.

He says, not very quietly, “Oh. You can’t eat.”

Andrew throws an uncaring look at him. “I’m not hungry.”

“Then why did you order?”

He doesn’t answer that.

Neil keeps hold of Andrew’s hand and signals over a waitress. She frowns at Andrew, then to Neil says, “We don’t want violence in here, if you can’t –”

“I understand,” says Neil, cutting her off. “Can I order a chocolate sundae? Two spoons?”

She narrows her eyes a little, smiles too brightly and says, “Sure thing,” taking Neil’s plate away, and then Andrew’s at Neil’s gesturing.

“I don’t know what you think you’re doing,” Andrew says, but he leans back in his chair, muscles relaxing a little, even brings his feet up to pop at the edge of the seat, knees hunched.

Which means their hands get pulled up too, where they’re resting on top of Andrew’s knees.

“Getting ice cream.”

Andrew just hums in response, but tugs on Neil’s hand a little, and Neil scoots his chair closer, and now they’re arm to arm, and Neil can feel, without really understanding how, that Andrew is a bit shaken. He’s not shaking, not exactly, but his walls don’t feel as firm, or steady. Neil wants to look at him, wishes he could just take him home, could just tell the others to go away. He doesn’t. Just holds Andrew’s hand and strokes his fingers and ignores the looks he’s getting.

When the ice cream arrives he lifts up his spoon but waits until Andrew does the same before eating.

The others are done long before them, and no one orders dessert, and Neil waits until Andrew puts his spoon down to do the same. He hasn’t eaten much, but at least he’s eaten something, and Neil can’t help smile at him. The Foxes stand to go, and Neil does the same, tugs at Andrew’s hand until he gets to his feet. Andrew pushes a hand at Neil’s face, turning him away, a familiar reaction to the way Neil sometimes can’t help looking at him, and they leave the diner together hand in hand.

Outside, Neil holds him close and says, “Do you want to leave?”

But then Kevin is saying, “Where next?”

Allison shrugs. “All the bars round here suck.”

“Then why are we here?” Kevin says, as if starting on one of his tirades, but down the street Nicky, Aaron and Matt have already started crossing the street, Renee and Dan not far down from them, and the lights are red, but they’re crossing anyway, and the way looks clear except Neil can hear a screech of tires –

“No.”

It’s Andrew’s voice, low and steady, but the panic is given away by the way he tears his hand out of Neil’s, and starts running into the road. And Neil breaks the rules. It’s instinct that pushes him after Andrew, reaching out, grabbing his arm and shoulder and hurling him back to the pavement. It’s complicated – Andrew tries to push Neil away and Kevin reaches forward to do something and just about avoids getting punched. Allison says, “What the fuck?” and Andrew is trying to leave again, but Neil – instead of grabbing his arm, feeling the betrayal pounding through his body – just touches his hand instead.

“ _Andrew._ He’s ok, there’s no car, there’s – nothing happened.” Andrew’s body stills, and Neil slots their fingers together again, and holds firm, can tell Andrew’s body wants to fling itself onto the road, but now their eyes are both locking onto the figures on the other side of the road, staring back, curious. Andrew’s chest rising and falling.

“Andrew,” Neil says again, tugs his hand again.

Andrew whips round to look at him, furious. Looks down at their linked hands and pulls his away sharply. “You stopped me.”

“He’s ok.”

“You –” Andrew stops, glares at Kevin and Allison. “Fuck off,” he says. Neil thinks it’s just to give himself a minute.

Allison just rolls her eyes. “Glad to see you’re as weird as ever,” and with a brief glance at the traffic starts her way across the road, a wary Kevin on her heels.

Neil says, “He’s ok, Andrew. There was no car. I don’t know – I think maybe a car screeched round some corner. I heard it too.” Andrew’s arms are crossed again, and he’s not looking at Neil.

“Will you tell me what’s wrong?”

Neil doesn’t often try direct questions with Andrew, doesn’t really think they work. But Andrew is clearly finding it hard to concentrate, to settle his emotions away, to feel nothing at all. His arms are shaking.

“Nothing,” he says, and it comes out cool, blank, collected, but his face is doing that unfocusing thing again.

Neil reaches into his bag and digs around. He holds up a pack of sour worms.

Andrew blinks, stares at the pack in Neil’s hand, then back up at his face.

“I um, brought them,” Neil says, feeling stupid now. “For you,” he adds, as if that will help him to feel less stupid.

Andrew just frowns at them.

“I know you’re having a bad day,” Neil tries again, “and you don’t have to talk to me about it. But I thought…” he trails off. Still holding the packet.

Andrew, to Neil’s surprise, lifts up a hand, and takes the candy.

Neil smiles and reaches back into his bag.

“What else do you have in there,” Andrew mutters, sounding tired, but not entirely gone.

“Stickers.”

“ _Stickers_.”

“I found them when I went shopping with Matt, wait,” and he pulls out a pack of goth stickers. Skulls and stuff like that. Neil had thought of Andrew.

Andrew says nothing. And then says, “Why.”

Neil very delicately peels a sticker off and gestures to Andrew’s arm. Andrew lifts it, and Neil sticks an anarchy symbol to the forearm of Andrew’s band.

Andrew just looks at it. “What did that achieve.”

“It achieved you having a sticker on your armband,” Neil explains, “and now we have candy too. Isn’t tonight awesome?”

Andrew looks up at him, bewilderment in his eyes, and Neil lifts his hand slowly, links their hands together when Andrew doesn’t stop him.

Neil feels like he needs to explain. “I know I can’t help. I know you don’t want me to. I know you have Bee, and I don’t know. I thought it might help.”

“The stickers.”

“Yes.”

“And sour worms.”

“You like sour worms.”

Andrew looks down at the sticker on his armband, the pack of candy in his hand. Tugs experimentally at Neil’s hand and says, “Well how are we going to get this open?”

Neil nods across the street. “I know some people.”

“Would be easy if you just let go of my hand.”

“Doesn’t sound like a good solution.”

Andrew looks at him, lowers both hands. Contemplates him. “I hate you,” he says, all casual, slow, like honey.

Neil smiles. “Ok.”

Andrew takes in a breath, and turns to look across the street. The Foxes are gathered in front of a bar, a little down the road, but they seem happy enough, talking, one of them occasionally looking back to check Andrew and Neil are still there.

Andrew says, “I had a dream.” His voice is tight, and Neil stays quiet. Wants to hear what Andrew has to hear. “That he died.” Andrew purses his lips together. “In the car.”

Neil just says, “Ok,” because it is. Squeezes his hand.

“And that guy… I wasn’t expecting it.”

“I know,” Neil says. “I won’t let anyone else touch you.”

“Don’t say that,” Andrew says. “We’re going into a bar.”

“Bodies will hit the floor and not get up again.”

Andrew looks at him, amusement clear in his eyes, all focused on Neil. Neil's breath catches a little, relief and wonder hitting him. Andrew squeezes Neil's hand and, quietly, says, “Don’t get us arrested.”

“Sounds dull but ok,” Neil says, tugging on Andrew’s hand. Andrew moves closer, brushes their shoulders together, his hand firm and steady in Neil’s, looks out at the traffic.

Tonight isn’t a night for kisses, and Neil doesn’t ask for one, but he brushes one finger across the back of Andrew’s hand, and doesn’t let go.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to laura and andré for talking to me about this and letting me steal your ideas xxx


End file.
